


Pyrrhic

by Ad_Astra



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, MakoRin Week Day 3: Lies and Dreams, alternate take on ES episode 9, character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I want to be you, sometimes,</i> Makoto doesn't say, because those are not the right words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pyrrhic

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Title: _Elemental_
> 
> This fic takes place in the middle of episode 9 before Makoto and Rin’s hotel room scene and after Sousuke and Haru's elevator scene. Please keep in mind the following things:
> 
> 1\. Rin doesn’t know about Sousuke’s shoulder yet  
> 2\. Haru and Rin haven’t had their fight  
> 3\. Haru’s nightmare hasn’t happened yet
> 
> Special thanks to [attemptsonwords](http://archiveofourown.org/users/attemptsonwords) for the beta, and [proshy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/proshy) for checking canon consistency!

Cold dry air prickles over Makoto’s wet skin as he steps out of the bathroom to fetch a towel. He doesn’t know why he’s being so careful; Haru has already left the room, presumably for a run, which seems to be his favoured ritual prior to major tournaments. He’s alone.

Well, supposedly.

“Oi, I thought it was—what the fuck, MAKOTO!!!”

Makoto’s heart leaps to his throat, and he instinctively grabs the first item he could reach, hefting it in an angle that both covers his man bits and allows it to be easily swung like a makeshift weapon.

“The electric kettle, really?” Rin’s unmistakable drawl manages to slip through the jackhammer beat of Makoto’s heart.

Makoto supposes he should be relieved, but for some obscene reason, his pulse doesn’t slow down. Might have to do with how Rin is sitting on Makoto’s bed, glaring at the kettle like it personally offended him.  “Oh. Rin. Hey,” he says, vying for a cool and unaffected tone and failing miserably. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck with the hand not holding the kettle. “Um, Haru’s not here.”

“I can _see_ that.”

Of course. “He’s probably out for a run. Pre-competition jitters you know.” Makoto hedges, as he tries to inch closer towards the bed where the towels are located. “Um, could you pass me a towel?”

“Nice to know even Haru gets nervous,” Rin says, making no move to do what Makoto requested, even as he looks straight at him. Makoto shifts uneasily, feeling a puddle pooling at his feet. Rin’s gaze is hot, searching, doing uncomfortable things to Makoto’s groin, which is a weird sensation when the air con is blasting cold air directly in his face. It’s confusing his body. “And you?”

Makoto blinks. “Me?”

Rin takes a towel from the bed but doesn’t hand it to Makoto. “Are _you_ nervous?”

“Um. Probably?”

A small smile is starting to play on Rin’s lips, and he finally stands up, arm outstretched to hand over the towel. “Want me to help?”

Makoto gratefully grasps the proffered towel. “What kind of—“ His cuts himself off with a yelp, as he stumbles forward with all the grace of a duck in roller skates, when Rin pulls the towel back with a mighty yank.

It’s a testament to all of Rin’s insane weights training that he doesn’t even grunt when Makoto crashes against him, his left hand already catching the electric kettle Makoto inadvertently dropped.

His eyes widen at Rin’s proximity, at the feel of Rin’s hand on the small of his back, nails dragging along his spine. He then realizes what Rin means, and he feels his skin prickle again, this time with a fierce heat from within.

“Rin…”

“Just try it,” Rin whispers, his breath fanning on Makoto’s ear, making Makoto shiver, making him _want_. “Live a little, Makoto.”

Makoto checks the clock. It’s 10:30 in the evening and Haru’s nowhere to be found. If he really thinks about it, it _has_ been some time since he’s really spent time with just Rin, though he never imagined they’d actually wind up like this. But then again, what does he have to lose? If he doesn’t have a Plan A to begin with, any kind of Plan B would do just as well.

“Okay,” he finally says, smiling nervously, fingers going slack, letting the towel 

.

drop, and Sousuke instinctively stretches his arm out to reach for it. The pain hits him instantly, lancing across muscle and sinew, making him gasp, his left hand flying to grip his inflamed shoulder as he hunches over, crumpling against the elevator wall.

He could feel Nanase's suspicious gaze on him before the other boy bends down to help the bellboy gather the dropped towels. They finish before Sousuke can recover, and the bellboy leaves, thanking Nanase profusely for his help, before leaving the two of them alone.

The elevator doors close once more and the already charged atmosphere turns even more tense, without the buffer of another person between them. Nanase’s back is turned towards him, silent and unmoving, and this stays that way for the next few floors. Then, just when Sousuke thinks Nanase would none be the wiser:

“Your shoulder hasn’t healed yet?”

Fuck. Sousuke barely manages to stop himself from saying the expletive out loud.  _He knows._ _But how?_ Either Nanase has psychic powers or he’s been extremely observant during joint practices. Sousuke’s pulse is beating a frantic staccato under his skin but he still aims for nonchalance, shoving his hands in his pockets, hiding the lingering pain with a mask of indifference. When you have everything to lose, the only course of action is deny deny _deny_. “What are you talking about?”

Nanase turns his head slightly to look at him. “I ran into Kisumi the other day. He told me.”

Sousuke’s mind flashes back to that chance encounter with his elementary school friend in the clinic, and wonders how his luck could be so terrible. Sousuke knows for a fact that Kisumi has been out of contact with Tachibana and Nanase, and the odds of him encountering the two of them have to be _astronomical._   And yet it happened anyway.  “Damn him,” he mutters under his breath. He refuses to give Nanase the satisfaction of a verbal confirmation. Not that it matters at this point.

The elevator gets to his floor and he steps out, ready to forget about this disastrous encounter. He needs to prepare for the race, and like hell he’s going to let Nanase’s brown-nosing get the best of him. But before he can walk away though, Nanase speaks up again.

“Wait.”

“It won’t have any effect on the match,” Sousuke answers immediately, before Nanase can launch into whatever pity speech he wants to slam Sousuke with. He turns just enough to look at him, eyes narrowed in warning. “But don’t tell

.

Rin,” Makoto whispers, blush riding high on his cheeks as Rin pushes him back into the bathroom. “Your clothes…”

Right. Why is Rin not surprised that Makoto’s first concern about Rin manhandling his wet, fortunately naked ass back into the shower is inconveniencing Rin with a wet shirt? “Stay there,” he instructs, as he steps out briefly to divest himself off his clothes in record time before tossing them on a nearby chair and darting back into the bathroom, sliding the door shut behind him.

Makoto is still standing under the shower, waiting like he always does, like he can always be trusted to. His smile is a bit unsure, but it is welcoming, willing to go along with whatever Rin wants to try.

Rin doesn’t even know what came over him— he’s not really in the habit of jumping his friends, let alone sweet, body-shy boys like Makoto. Then again, he has never seen his other friends walking out of the shower butt naked and dripping wet, and none of them certainly carried the kind of prodigious manhood Makoto possesses between his legs. He’s seventeen, pumped to his ears in hormones and in a happy, celebratory mood, which is exactly the kind of combo that results to bizarre leaps of judgement like this one.

He steps into the shower, which prompts Makoto to make space for him, leaning against the wall, one hand grasping the shower handle, the other curled loosely on his side. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself, not that Rin can blame him.  It was a heat of the moment thing. It’s the night before the competition; he’s fired up, testosterone singing through his veins, and he’s just so excited to be here with his new team and his old friends. Makoto is here and most importantly, he's willing. Really, they're young and at the top of their game, so why the hell _not_?

Makoto shifts a bit, the small movement sending his shoulder and chest muscles flexing ever so subtly under the sheets of water. Rin's mouth runs dry. It couldn’t be nerves, because this is Makoto, sweet, patient, accommodating Makoto, who keeps Rin grounded, who reminded Rin of the things he lost sight of when he was blinded by victory and  numbers, who is the person Rin never has to second guess.

There’s a questioning look in Makoto’s eyes, and Rin realizes that Makoto is expecting him to make the first move. Fair enough. He’s the one who pulled Makoto into this impulse ride after all.

“Trust me?” Rin asks. He tries to sound coy, but he just comes off as painfully eager. He hopes Makoto doesn’t notice.

The stiff line of Makoto’s shoulders unwind, and he nods, raising his hand to thumb along the corner of Rin’s mouth, before leaning forward, angling his head a bit to the side, and meeting him

.

Halfway across the hall, Haru calls out. “Yamazaki!”

Yamazaki’s broad shoulders stiffen as he freezes mid-step before slowly turning around, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

Haru catches up to him. He has no idea what possessed him to slam his hand on the open-doors button at the last minute just to chase after Yamazaki but after seeing the way he clutched his shoulder and crumpled against the wall all from the simple motion of stretching out his hand, Haru could not just let this slide in good conscience. “Why are you hiding this from Rin?”

“He doesn’t need to know,” is Yamazaki’s blunt reply, as if that answers anything.

“Yes he does," Haru says, stepping right in front of Yamazaki. The other boy doesn’t move from his spot, but his eyes narrow reflexively, his stance still bordering on hostility. "You can't compete with an injury."

“Didn’t I already tell you this won’t have an effect on the race?”

“You couldn’t even reach a towel, how do you expect to swim?”

“Because I’ve been dealing with this for a long time, and I’m not about to stop now,” Yamazaki answers, irate. “Leave me alone Nanase. You don’t know anything.”

"Then _tell_ me," Haru says, a little bit of plaintiveness in his voice seeping through against his will.  _I want to know. I want to understand,_ he doesn’t add. _Everybody only ever tells me what they want for me. I want to know what other people want, what people's reasons are for doing these things._

Yamazaki’s eyes are cold, unflinching. “No. We're done here." He turns his back on Haru and walks away.

Haru’s eyes narrow. Like hell he’s letting Yamazaki walk away from this again, now that Rin is involved.  “Tell me or I’ll tell Rin.”

The effect is instantaneous. Yamazaki whips around, and if looks could kill, Haru would have been immediately eviscerated by the sheer loathing in Yamazaki's glare, but he holds his ground, staring back.

Haru wouldn't actually tell Rin, but Yamazaki doesn't need to know that.

“Fine. But we're not doing this here,” Yamazaki snarls, before grabbing Haru by the arm and pulling him towards the nearest bathroom.

Yamazaki’s grip around Haru’s wrist is tight enough to bruise. Come to think of it, Yamazaki is huge, bigger than Makoto; he can easily break Haru if he wants to. Haru thinks that maybe he should be a little scared.

But he isn’t.  Not when Yamazaki’s eyes reflect more terror than anger, not when Yamazaki lets go after a while, but not before Haru notices how much his arm is

.

Trembling, Makoto touches Rin’s cheek to reassure himself that this is real, that Rin is really kissing him. It’s so strange yet wonderful at the same time; Rin feels almost like a dream. His body is flush against Makoto’s, hot wet skin pressing firmly against each other, one of his hands already fitting against the small of Makoto’s back. Makoto doesn’t have a lot of experience with these things, but he knows he needs to open his mouth, and so he does. Rin eagerly accepts the invitation, their tongues curling hesitantly around each other. Rin tastes like a sports drink, Gatorade green fury, and faint traces of chlorine.

Rin tastes like other things too, intangible things like the end of summer, like distant dreams, maybe even something like hope, but Makoto doesn’t want to think about that.

They’re both already hard when they finish kissing, their cocks loosely dragging against each other, sending quick jolts of heat in Makoto’s belly.  Makoto leans in close,  presses his lips to Rin’s without really kissing him, just content to breathe in each other’s mouths, letting hot water sluice all around them until they figure out where they’re going with this.

Rin is the first to break the standstill. “So here we are,” he says, his voice almost a purr.  He meets Makoto’s gaze, and there is the familiar gleam of challenge there. “What do you want Makoto?”

The question startles Makoto and he blinks. He looks at Rin’s face. Rin’s a little red, maybe from the hot temperature of the water, maybe from the boldness of the question, probably from the fact that their movements are causing constant friction between their cocks, but still, these are not the things Makoto think about when he tries to come up with the answer.

 _I want to be you, sometimes_ ,  Makoto doesn’t say, because those are not the right words. Not when Rin is looking like this, all flushed skin, and brilliant, toothy smiles; not when he shines, light reflecting off the droplets dotted on the tips of his lashes. Those are not the right words, because Rin chose to be here for _him_ right now, not for anyone else, chose to take the heat of this moment and share it with Makoto.

Those are not the right words because Rin looks so content, like he’s where he wants to be, and everything is falling into place. 

Rin doesn’t know of Yamazaki’s shoulder; he doesn’t know of Haru’s indecision about the very things Rin lives for.  Rin doesn’t know about Makoto’s jealousy, and his fear of not being good enough.

The problem with knowing these things is that he’s not in the position to tell anyone else. Not Haru, most definitely not Yamazaki, and most especially not Rin.

Rin is happy now; he’s living his dream, soaring, rising to an invisible zenith, and Makoto will not be the one to say the words that will shoot him down to the ground.

“Oi, Makoto."

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he cups the back of Rin’s neck and kisses him again, hoping to bask in his happiness, hoping to know what it would feel like to have no limits, hoping for a taste of what it means to

.

 _Fly_ , reads the poster of the posh hotel bathroom, and below it, there’s a picture of some dark-skinned basketball player leaping up to dunk. _Reach for the stars_ is scrawled on the bottom, like an aftermath.

Sousuke wants to tear it down and crush it beneath his heel. Reach for the stars. Ha. He can't even reach to grab a fucking towel.

Nanase is still staring at him, with those eyes that see too much and say nothing. Nanase and his perfect everything. Nanase who has Rin’s adoration, a natural talent he doesn't even care about, scouts beating down his door, the world at his feet. All he has to do is take it.

But he doesn’t, he doesn’t even seem to _care_ , and this is what angers Sousuke so much.

The relay is the last chance he’ll ever have to swim with Rin on a competitive level. _Let’s swim so we won’t have regrets tomorrow_ , Rin had said, with his eyes full of hope and his heart on his sleeve. Romantic, idealistic, confident Rin who doesn’t know any better, who will _not_ know any better, if Sousuke has anything to say about it.

Nanase is infuriatingly calm, even with his back against the wall, and Sousuke looming all over him. “So?” he asks. “Why?”

Since Nanase is clearly incapable of comprehending Sousuke’s requests to leave him alone, Sousuke decides to use terms that he _will_ understand. “Because I want to swim with Rin,” he says, short, succinct, a sentiment that Nanase should be able to relate to. Nanase should know what it’s like. Sousuke’s not the only who broke something just to swim with Rin after all.

Of course, Nanase doesn't look convinced. “How can you swim with that shoulder?”

 _A lot of painkillers and muscle salve. Highly selective exercises. Sheer wilful perversity._ “Don’t be stupid Nanase, you saw me swim last time. We even beat you.”

“So it was already broken even before this?”

Sousuke smiles, wry and humourless.  “Yeah,” he confirms, in a tone that he hopes manages to convey to Nanase just how little it matters.  He convinced himself long ago; maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll convince Nanase too. “So save your worry for something else, this is old hat to me.” Then, he adds for good measure, to remind Nanase of the things he seems to take for granted: “Not all of us can get Rin's admiration by doing nothing special."

It works. Nanase's dead-eyed stare falters, and he averts his eyes quickly. Sousuke notices the way Nanase’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, like he's struggling to understand Sousuke's justifications. Then, with a quick glance up at Sousuke, he asks: "... Is that why you hate me so much?"

 _Of all the fucking things to ask..._ Sousuke almost wants to laugh at Nanase's presumption. Hate? Hardly. Hate means a special kind of attention, a conscious effort to invest negative energy into ensuring another person’s misery. If Sousuke’s to be completely honest with himself, he really doesn’t want Nanase to be miserable. He just doesn’t want him getting in Rin’s way.

But explaining this all to Nanase won’t accomplish anything. It’s easier to believe in hatred. Hate is easier to understand, easier to react to, and Sousuke _wants_ Nanase to react, to show Sousuke that there is something beneath that cool, casual exterior of his that Sousuke can learn to respect. 

It’s almost terrifying how much Sousuke is invested in the future of his supposed enemy.

So, without bothering to correct Nanase, he simply says: "No."

Nanase looks lost. "Then _why_?"

Sousuke studies the confusion on Nanase’s face, wondering if he should even bother to dignify that with a response. His feelings for Nanase are irrelevant; they’re not teammates, and it should have no bearing on how they perform in the race.

But hey, what does Sousuke have to lose? He doesn’t care what Nanase thinks of him. Unlike Nanase, who’s clearly bothered by Sousuke’s supposed hatred. It’s almost flattering.

Besides, he already lied about the hate part. Maybe a little honesty is in order this time.

"Isn’t it obvious?” he starts, smiling bitterly, biting back the hurt of the truth of what he’s about to admit. “You have everything I can't let myself

.

Want. I want you, Rin,” Makoto finally whispers, when they part, begging him with that smile, the kind that Rin finds impossible to refuse. If it were any other time, he’d probably have acquiesced immediately, because he wants Makoto too, wants to be enveloped in that warmth, wants to be surrounded by that soothing familiarity that never seems to change. Not when they were kids and Rin wanted to form a relay team; not last year when Rin shamefully dismissed him, having eyes only for Haru then, not now when Rin had asked for something so outrageous, anyone else would have outright refused.

But Rin is not so far gone to ignore what lies ahead. Tomorrow is a big day, and Rin will never forgive himself if he does anything to ruin Makoto’s chance to shine, together with him, Haru, Sousuke, and the rest of their teams.

“Can’t risk it. We’re competing tomorrow,” Rin replies instead, allowing regret and self-loathing to permeate his voice. He apologizes further against the curve of Makoto’s neck, mouthing on the hot wet skin, tongue running along the skipping vein. “Maybe after the tournament?”

Makoto laughs, and it’s so genuine, breathy, soft in ways that Rin would very nearly yield to, and it makes him want Makoto even more. “Of course,” he says, and flinches a bit, when Rin bites him— not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to leave indents on his skin for a few hours. “But there are other ways to have you right?”

“What do you mean?“

Instead of answering, Makoto just grips Rin’s shoulders, hesitating only for the briefest of moments before pushing him against the opposite wall.

Rin’s eyes widen when Makoto’s hands skitter down his sides as the other boy goes down on the tile, one knee and then the other, the water beating down on his back.

“Here, like this,” Makoto whispers, and he presses his cheek against Rin’s hard cock, looking up at him from beneath heavy, watery lashes. “May I, please?”

Rin bites down a sigh. He could come just from the sight of this, truly. Makoto is unreal, gracious and polite, even as he’s asking to suck Rin off in his own hotel room.

“God, yes,” Rin replies after a while, fingers curling around Makoto’s hair.

Makoto smiles again, almost as if he’s grateful for Rin’s permission, and it makes Rin pause to wonder what it is he isn’t saying.

Then Makoto’s lips part against the crown of Rin’s cock, and Rin feels nothing but

.

Heat scorches across the expanse of Haru’s skin at Yamazaki’s sudden nearness, but it is not a pleasant one. Yamazaki’s voice is harsh yes, but there’s an underlying rawness to it that Haru doesn’t miss. He looks like he hates himself for what he just said.

Haru can relate. He has hated himself too, at certain points in his life (13-year old Rin, crying as he spitefully says he’s quitting; Makoto lying motionless on the beach, while he stood there helpless, wondering if he’s too late). But those were things he had already forgiven himself for, and eventually gotten over.

He doesn’t know how to get over _this._ Haru has always been peripherally aware of the fact that things have a propensity for coming easier to him than it does to others. He isn’t so obtuse as to believe that his love for water is what makes him good in moving in it— he has a natural talent that has been the source of envy by a lot of his peers. It has never been something he was bothered by until that day Rin ran away from him. Now, it’s something he could no longer shake off. 

“But you know, that’s not even the worst part,” Yamazaki adds quietly, almost like an afterthought, snapping Haru out of his musings.

Haru snaps his head up. “What is _worse_?” What could possibly be worse than hurting people with his so-called beautiful swimming?

“You don’t even seem to want any of it,” Yamazaki answers slowly. He squares his shoulders and tips his head back a bit, a move that almost looks calculated, making Yamazaki seem even bigger than he already is. “Am I wrong?”

Haru is aware that his silence is as much an answer as a verbal reply. He doesn’t say anything anyway.

“It would be easier, if I was wrong,” Yamazaki adds after a while. His gaze is disarmingly direct, devoid of emotions other than expectation, just waiting for Haru to either fuck up or prove him wrong. 

Haru almost understands the reasoning behind lying. Maybe he should, give Yamazaki a taste of his own medicine. But while Haru could probably stomach being a liar, he doesn’t think he can stomach being a hypocrite “You’re not. I don’t have a dream, Yamazaki. Or any grand visions of the future.” He casts his eyes on Yamazaki’s injured shoulder, hidden from sight by his jacket. He wonders if there’s anything else Yamazaki is hiding. “Maybe you should consider that before thinking you’d rather be in my shoes.”

The corner of Yamazaki’s lips raise to a wry smile, which totally contrasts the anger and disappointment in his eyes. "Why do I even bother?” he scoffs. “Of course nothing I say could make you care.”

“What do you care that I don’t?” Haru snaps. “I’m not you. I’m not Rin. I don’t care about records. I just want to swim with my friends.”

“What do I care? Look at you.” Yamazaki takes a menacing step closer, forcing Haru against the wall again. “You need to have a dream, something you can’t surrender to anyone else. If you don’t even have that, you don’t deserve to be here.”

 _You don’t deserve to be here_. That’s a first. Haru’s so used to people taking it for granted that he’ll do well, that his talent will get him far; it’s almost refreshing to find someone who thinks the exact opposite. “You think I asked for this?” Haru whispers. Yamazaki is so close, his breath sweeping across Haru’s cheek. Still, this doesn't stop Haru from looking up, refusing to be intimidated, even as Yamazaki’s sheer bulk and crippling glare pins him where he stands. “You think that just because I didn’t have to work hard for it, that I don’t deserve be here?”

Yamazaki's expression grows dark. “You don’t deserve to be here if you never _wanted_ to.”

The words hit Haru like a punch to the gut, and it occurs to him then just how little he understands himself. He doesn’t have a dream. He doesn’t think of a future. He doesn’t know what he wants.  He wants to tell Yamazaki that it’s difficult not knowing what you want, but that seems so trite in the face of Yamazaki’s problems.  What is Haru’s petty indecision in the face of Yamazaki’s ruined shoulder?  At least indecision can be changed. When it’s your body that betrays you, there’s very little you can do, let alone change.

Yamazaki seems to pick up on his discomfort. “Well? What’s your excuse?”

Haru doesn’t answer right away. He wonders if he should feel guilty. He wonders if his talent should feel like a crime he couldn’t help committing. His talent that hurts people with its very presence, which is  strange, because talents are supposed to be gifts, and gifts are supposed to make people happy. He isn’t happy with it; but he thinks he won’t be happy without it either.

He wonders what Yamazaki would do if he learns the truth.  He wonders if the truth is even worth telling, considering that it’s nothing compared to Yamazaki’s pain.

He feels the saliva gathering in his mouth from being shut for so long. Vaguely, he wishes guilt could be like it, like bile and spit, something he can consciously do away, something he can

.

swallow around Rin’s cock, hot and thick on his tongue, tasting like salt and musk and hot water. Makoto doesn’t really know what he’s doing  but Rin seems to like whatever it is anyway. He doesn’t know what kind of sounds Rin is making  either– they’re all being muted by the pounding of water on his back, but he’d like to believe they’re nice breathy sounds, if the way Rin is fisting his hair and practically fucking his mouth is any indication.

The tip of Rin’s cock hits deep into Makoto’s throat, and it almost makes him gag—he suppresses it with great difficulty, and gradually eases Rin out of his mouth to recover. He keeps his lips around the tip though, the flat of his tongue cradling the patch of skin beneath the head. He's disappointed that he couldn't take as much as he wants, but maybe he can try to do something else.

He eases off some of the weight on his knees and looks up, watches the water trickle down Rin’s abs, breaking into smaller rivulets travelling along each groove, the muscles beneath flexing involuntarily with every flick of Makoto’s tongue. Slowly, he raises his hand, lays it flat against Rin’s stomach before dragging it down to grasp around the exposed part of Rin’s cock.

Rin’s breathing goes heavier, drawn out. Makoto veers his gaze higher to meet Rin’s before carefully mouthing along the length of Rin’s cock, lips and tongue applying soft and wet pressure on the flushed, sensitive skin.  He feels Rin’s hand tugging at his hair, hears the rough, lust-edged sound of Rin saying Makoto’s name, and is suddenly filled with an indescribable desire to hear more, to feel Rin come undone beneath his hands.

His knees are already beginning to hurt from kneeling on the tiles, but he ignores it. _Just a little longer,_ he thinks. He wants to hold on to Rin while he still can, while he’s still here where Makoto can reach him. In this enclosed bathroom space, swathed in steam and water, with the cold hard tile pressing against his skin, he’ll get his taste of flight, of what it means to reach great heights, even if he’s only meant to stay aground.

And when Rin finally goes to chase the sun, Makoto can only hope he can look back at this and remember.

Makoto grasps Rin loosely at the base and drags his tongue along the line between Rin’s balls, following the thick vein. Rin moans and trembles a little, cock twitching against Makoto’s lips. Makoto hums and tongues the patch of skin beneath the tip once more, relishing the swear words Rin gasps out, before closing his lips around the crown and surging forward, taking as much of Rin as he can.

Rin comes almost instantly, and while Makoto is stunned, he doesn’t show it. Instead he keeps Rin in his mouth throughout the last pulses, until the thick rush of come pools at the back of Makoto’s tongue, until Rin has emptied himself inside.

“Ohmygod I’m so sorry,” Rin apologizes, sounding completely mortified, his hands on his mouth. “I don’t, I’m not—I usually last longer than this. Hey—wait you don’t have to--”

Makoto swallows, and tries to pretend that what is going down his throat isn’t

.

Bitterness doesn’t even begin to cover what Sousuke is feeling right now.

Once he thought that Rin was foolish, trying to do too many things, trying to share his dream with too many people. Everyone has limits, and destruction is the cost of taking on too much. Back then, he thought, _I had one goal, one dream to pour my everything into_. Unlike Rin, he won’t focus his attention on other people.

So when Sousuke set out on his career, he promised himself he is only going to focus on one thing-- himself. Rin thinks that he can have both his friends and his victory. Sousuke would have thought Rin had already learned his lesson when they failed so badly in their own relay.

Last year, Rin almost ruined his chances for a shot at professional swimming  by pulling that stunt. Rin had told him it was one of the best things he has ever done in his life.

It didn’t make sense back then, and it still doesn’t make sense now.

And yet here he is. Unable to swim professionally, while Rin keeps living his dream.

At last, Nanase seems to finally find a way to work his jaw open again, and when he looks up at Sousuke, he actually looks _guilty_.

Sousuke thinks that he should be satisfied about causing that. He wonders why he isn’t. 

“It’s hard,” Nanase starts, his voice small.  “Not knowing what you want. Not knowing what to do with what you have. And everyone insisting that there’s only one obvious thing to do with it.”

Nanase’s words are clumsy, his tone subdued, but it does nothing to mitigate the fact that he’s admitting that his problems are all centered around indecision. He hopes Nanase isn’t thinking it’ll make Sousuke feel any better.

As if hearing Sousuke’s thoughts, Nanase adds: “It’s nothing compared to what you’re going through.” He finally turns away, looking ashamed. “But you asked.”

 _Yes_ , Sousuke thinks, _I did._ It didn’t solve anything, but answers are answers, and Sousuke will take what he can, however flimsy. “So that’s how it is then,” he muses, almost to himself. It’s funny how the world works. Entering the world stage is all he ever wanted, all he ever dreamed, and he worked so hard for it. All the signs were there.

But then again, it’s true what they say: being on the top means that the only other way you can go is down. And right now, Nanase is reminding him of another painful truth: that you can’t force ambition where it doesn’t exist, but it can also be laughably easy to crush where it thrives.

Overtraining. One too many stretches, one extra weight too many.  That’s all it took.

“Yeah.” Nanase replies just as quietly. He chews his lip contemplatively for a bit before speaking again, his voice gaining a little bit of strength. “What about you, Yamazaki?”

Sousuke raises an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“I told you my excuses. What are yours? ” Nanase asks, tilting his head back. He seems to have overcome his temporary bout of meekness, that infuriatingly disarming stare back on his face. “Your shoulder is broken, so what is the point of you competing in this race? Do you honestly believe you can still win?”

Sousuke nearly laughs out loud. It’s ironic how Nanase can be so astute when it comes to observing Sousuke’s actions, but be terribly oblivious to his motivations. Ironic, like how Sousuke with all his bulk and muscles is frail where it matters, while Nanase with his slim shoulders and dainty features is more powerful than Sousuke can ever hope to be now.

Ironic, like how Nanase with all his limitless talent is _drowning_ under the weight of expectations, while Sousuke’s dreams

.

burn of Rin's cheeks goes unnoticed as he watches Makoto’s adam’s apple bob when he swallows. It's so obscene, so not like Makoto at all.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says quietly, looking away.

Makoto shakes his head. “I wanted to,” he replies, and stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Makoto’s erection hasn’t even flagged the whole time he’s been blowing Rin; not that Rin took his time to begin with. He couldn’t let this challenge pass though, and before he can think too hard about it, he reaches down, takes Makoto in hand.

Makoto makes a noise of surprise, and looks like he's about to protest, but Rin silences him with what he hopes is a reassuring, ‘ _trust me I’m an expert_ ,’ look even if he's still freaking out inside.

“Here, just... let me...“ Rin stumbles over his words, but his grip is sure around Makoto’s cock, testing its impressive weight and length, enjoying the feel of it, like steel wrapped in satin. "Is this okay?" he asks, blinking away water from his eyelashes as he peers up at Makoto.

Makoto bites his lip, before tipping his head back, water racing down the elegant line of his throat.

"Please," he whispers.

Rin flicks his wrist, thumb brushing against the patch of skin beneath the crown, dragging a low, obscene moan from Makoto’s throat. Makoto grows scarlet, embarrassed by his reaction, and his hands raise up to cover his mouth but Rin will have none of it.

“Let it out, you don’t have to hide anything from me, “ Rin coaxes, as he continues his movements, settling into a fast but steady rhythm. He rises up on his toes, flicks his tongue on the shell of Makoto’s ear.  “I want to hear _you,_ Makoto.”

Makoto nods, breathing heavily, letting a few, scattered whimpers escape his mouth, when Rin twists his wrist just _so._ Rin really likes Makoto like this, needy and eager for Rin's touch, even when all Rin can give him for now is his hand (he will make up for it later, he promises that), those impossibly green eyes shuttered, bruised lips open and panting, his skin glowing a faint pink, all under a flowing veil of water.

He’s so different like this, soft and irresistible in his vulnerability. Makoto is a boy of many secrets, a boy who thinks too much and reveals so little, and it’s a rare moment when Rin can witness him so unguarded, all his emotions writ large on his face. It’s humbling, and at the same time, thrilling to know that Rin can bring this out of Makoto, that Makoto trusts Rin enough to show him this.

It doesn’t take long for Makoto to reach orgasm, his cry echoing around the enclosed bathroom space, white ribbons of hot come smearing both their stomachs, dripping from Rin’s hand.

Makoto sags against the bathroom wall, spent. Rin makes sure Makoto’s looking straight at him before bringing his hand to his mouth and licking. _It doesn’t taste too bad_ , he decides; maybe he can suck Makoto off next time, if there is one. Rin certainly wouldn't mind. They're going to win, and then they're going to have nationals. More pre-competition jitters to soothe.

Makoto is staring at Rin, mouth slightly open, like he couldn't decide whether to be turned on or mortified, so Rin immediately decides for him.

“Only fair,” he says, and does it again before Makoto can protest, gliding his tongue over his fingers, salt and musk lingering on his palate. "It looked hot when you did it."

Makoto bites his lip and looks away, looking embarrassed, which is strange, considering how enthusiastically he was blowing Rin just minutes ago. Instead of answering though, he takes some soap from the dispenser and begins washing both himself and Rin down.

Not exactly the kind of affirmative response Rin’s expecting, but the feel of Makoto’s large hands wrapping around his waist feels really nice.

“It worked," Makoto finally says, looking up at Rin with a small smile.

Rin tears his gaze away from the sight of Makoto's hands absently palming his abs. “What worked?”

“I’m not nervous anymore.”

Rin exhales, relieved. Imagine that, he has actually managed to calm Makoto’s competition nerves with arbitrary shower sex. Rin finds it to be a comforting thought.

He also realizes that is completely weird, but hey, whatever works.

“Told you,” he replies, smirking. He suddenly feels giddy, almost weightless and he wants (he hopes) Makoto feels the same. He reaches up, pushing Makoto's wet bangs from his forehead. “Relax." He gives him his most dazzling, confident smile, because it's so important for Makoto to know that opposing teams or not, they're in this _together_. "We’re going to be okay, Makoto. You, me, Haru, Sousuke. All of us.”

For a moment, Makoto looks like Rin's words floored him, eyes growing wide, lips falling open, as if Rin had done something impossible and made it look easy. But before Rin can think too much about it, Makoto's usual expression surfaces, eyes crinkling around the corners, a gaze so warm and comforting, Rin can't help but think of sunshine and fresh blades of grass, summer and fine white sands, things he doesn't normally think about but fiercely misses when they're not there.

“Rin,” Makoto says, no, _breathes_ his name, like Rin is the air that buoys him, that holds him up for lack of wings. He sweeps Rin’s bangs away, and pushes their foreheads together. His smile is only a little too bright, and it hurts a bit, in a way that it hurts to look too long at the glare of stadium lights. “Rin,” he repeats. “I believe in _your_

.

Victory has stopped being my goal long ago,” Yamazaki says. Slowly he pulls himself back, and Haru couldn’t help noticing just how smaller he looks, when the fight goes out of him.

“Now I just need to survive. Once the relay is over, I’m done.” Yamazaki shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and turns towards the mirror, his eyes looking so far away, melancholic, _defeated._ “I’m putting everything I have into swimming that one last race with Rin. And that’s why he _mustn’t_ know .”

Haru wants to be sympathetic, he really does. But any sympathy he has for Yamazaki is eclipsed by the knowledge that it’s not only him who will be paying for that lie in the end.  “Lying to Rin will only hurt him.”

Yamazaki doesn’t even flinch. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been paying for that lie for so long. If you have invested this much effort, borne so much pain for one lie, won’t you see it through the end?”

Haru's hands curl into fists. “Is that how it goes?” he asks quietly. “You lie to Rin, but let me know the truth?”

Yamazaki shrugs. “I care about Rin. I don’t care about what _you_ think of me.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Oh? Would it make you feel better if I lied to you too?”

Considering how much every single one of Yamazaki’s truths hurt, yeah, Haru could do with something else. Something easy to digest, something simple, something to pretend to have a happy ending with.

“Yeah go ahead,” he whispers, raising his chin to look Yamazaki in the eye. “Lie.”

Yamazaki clearly didn’t expect Haru to react like that, his eyebrows rising, his jaw clicking slightly open. How about that. Haru actually managed to shock him. The progress of this conversation is becoming more unreal by the minute.

The shock doesn’t last long. Yamazaki composes himself fairly fast, and his eyes harden, back to its usual setting of hostility, his mouth twisting into an awful grimace. He works his jaw, looking at Haru with a heavy, considering gaze. And then, after a while:

“I _hate_ you.”

Without another word, Yamazaki turns around and walks out of the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Haru doesn’t chase after him this time. Instead, he peels himself from the wall, calmly walks over towards one of the sinks, and splashes cold water on his face. He stares at his reflection on the mirror.

He remembers Rin’s tears and his anger, how much it hurt when Rin said he's quitting swimming. He remembers how widely Makoto smiled when he lost, and how much it hurt to know that Makoto tried to pretend. Why is it that every time he thinks he can finally swim as fast as he likes without hurting anyone, something comes up and proves him wrong? He hurt Rin. He hurt Makoto. And now he’s apparently hurt Yamazaki, someone he barely even knows, someone he shouldn’t even care about.

He angrily reaches for a paper towel to dry his face. What is the point of competing, of even being here then?  He hurts people by winning. He hurts people by not caring about winning.

Either way, he loses.

 _How many more?_ he thinks, as he goes down the flight of stairs towards the hotel exit.

 _Will it ever end?_ he asks, as he steps out into the thick Osaka air and runs.

_When will I be truly_

.

 _Free,_ ” Makoto says with a laugh, as he towels off his hair. “'I only swim free. That’s what Haru would say.”

Now that the rush of hormones has passed, Rin is back to his usual self, grumping about missing Haru.

“Like I don’t know that,” Rin grumbles, as he throws his clothes back on.  “When will he be getting back? I want to see if he’s decided yet.”

Makoto makes a non-committal hum and shrugs. “I think Haru is thinking about it in his own way.”

Rin sighs, sounding disappointed. Makoto feels sorry he couldn’t say anything more, but Haru hasn’t been quite open about his plans to him, to anyone. Makoto’s not even sure if he has plans at this point. It’s the main reason Makoto couldn’t talk to him about his own fledgling dream. Haru always looks lost when asked about what he wants to do, and the last thing Makoto wants is to make Haru feel like he’s being left behind.

After all, Makoto knows very well what that feels like, and he’d never wish it on anyone. Especially not Haru, who has everything he needs to achieve greatness if he decides to walk towards that path.

He’s broken out of his reverie when Rin pulls up a chair and sits in front of him, leaning forward, elbows crooked over his knees.

“What about you?” Rin asks, his eyes serious. “With your skill level, you should be getting one or two scouts.”

 _I’m not, though_ , Makoto doesn’t say. There was a time in his life when he thought he could. He’s no Haru or Rin, but he won his fair share of races. He has the discipline for training, and he works really hard, and he’s managed to conquer his fear of water.

But then again...

 _Your times barely made the cut,_ Gou had told them.

 _You really are the best in the water, Haru-chan!_ he said, hoping Haru couldn’t distinguish salt from chlorine, hoping the brightness of his smile covered the darkness in his heart.

… maybe not.

Rin is looking at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for Makoto to agree, waiting for Makoto to confirm that he’s making his way to becoming this ideal that Rin believes he could be.

Makoto doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he thinks he never will.

It’s amazing how his options become much clearer once he learns to accept that.

“Me?” he asks, trying to stall for time. If Rin persists, Makoto knows he could still be swayed, be thrown into indecision again. It’s hard to refuse Rin because his faith is so inspiring; he moves people, and Makoto doesn’t want-- doesn’t think he can go back to having to choose again.

“I’m—”

The loud knock that interrupts them is almost a relief. Nagisa’s voice permeates the door, and Rin immediately leaps to answer it. Makoto exhales, and convinces himself that it’s out of relief.

He laughs, when Rin scolds Nagisa for staying up late. He echoes Nagisa’s sentiments when he promises to beat Rin. He smiles when Rin meets his eyes for the last time before turning around and walking away.

Rin doesn’t ask him again, which is probably a good thing. It has to be a good thing. Makoto already has a dream he can call his own. At least, this way, if he can’t be good enough, at least he can be happy.

Tomorrow though, out of deference to his childhood dreams,  he’ll give his all, as he and Nagisa promised Rin. Tomorrow and maybe on nationals if they make it that far, he’ll swim his hardest, swim like he’s never swam before, swim like he’s riding on the comet tail of Rin’s dreams, reaching for the stars.

He’ll swim like it will be his last.

And you always save the best for last.

~***~

When Sousuke comes back to their room, Rin is already tucking himself under the covers, humming an unfamiliar tune, his hair still slightly damp from a recent shower. He sounds happy, so carefree, on the top of his world. As he should be. 

“About time you got back,” Rin calls out when he spots him. “Where have you been?”

“Just out,” Sousuke replies, as he goes towards the fridge for a can of cola. “You’re already going to bed?”

“Yeah. Unlike some people, we still need to impress scouts tomorrow.”

Sousuke bites back the familiar feeling of guilt with a deliberate pop of the soda can’s tab, relishing the hiss of carbon fizzing.

“Cola at this time of night?” Rin asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Relay’s still the day after tomorrow,” Sousuke answers, and takes a huge gulp.

At those words, Rin brightens up. “Yeah. Man, I am so pumped for that.  My ultimate team against Haru’s ultimate team. It’s going to be awesome.”

The simplicity of Rin’s happiness is just overwhelming, and Sousuke envies him for that sometimes. But maybe, hopefully, after the relay, he won’t have to anymore. “Yeah."

“Shut up, it will,” Rin grouses, mistaking Sousuke’s toneless assent for disinterest.  “I can feel it Sousuke. You’ll see the sight, I just know you will.”

Rin is grinning, his eyes and smile so bright, even in the dim lighting of the room. Whenever he sees Rin smile like this, it’s easy to justify why he keeps up the lie.

He remembers this quote: _I’ll set myself on fire to keep you warm._

Nanase thinks he’s doing this just for Rin. 

Nanase knows nothing.

If Sousuke’s dream is to swim with Rin for the last time, then he’s doing it for himself.  If he can’t swim against Rin as a rival, he will swim with Rin as his teammate. If he can’t share Rin’s dream, at least he can try to share the sight that Rin has always wanted him to see.

This is his new dream. On the day of the relay, when he achieves it, he’ll finally be at peace with the one he can no longer reach.

And that, he thinks, is worth _everything_. Worth the lie. Worth the tears that he knows Rin will shed, probably on his jacket. Worth the inevitable wreckage of his shoulder and the pain that will linger afterwards.

“I believe you,” he finally answers, and returns Rin’s smile.

This time, he isn’t lying.

 

*

When Haru comes back to their room, Makoto is already about to go to bed, his reading glasses and novel safely stowed away on the bedside table beside the lamp.

“Welcome back Haru,” he greets, customary smile in place. “How was your run?”

“Fine,” Haru replies curtly, before toeing off his shoes, and walking barefoot across the room, stripping off his clothes along the way, leaving himself only in his customary jammers as he makes a beeline for the bathroom.

Makoto sighs and shakes his head, leaving the bed to pick up after him, wrinkling his nose when he feels how drenched Haru’s shirt is.  “Haru, if you ran all the way back to the hotel, you need to cool down first before taking a shower,” he chides gently,  catching Haru by the arm, before he can enter the bathroom. “Come on, just five minutes.”

Haru scowls but begrudgingly lets go of the bathroom doorknob to do his cool-down stretches. Satisfied, Makoto stuffs Haru’s used clothes in a laundry bag before entering the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Rin dropped by today,” he starts conversationally, as he dispenses some soap into his hands. “I think he wants to talk to you something.”

From the mirror, he notices Haru stiffen momentarily, before rolling his shoulders, and resuming his stretches. “What about?”

“I’m not really sure. Something about a decision?”

Haru’s brows furrow. “What decision? We never talked about anything like that.”

“Oh.” Makoto decides not to press, electing to let Rin and Haru sort that out by themselves. “Well anyway, he and I talked a bit... and stuff.” He fights down a blush as his mind flashes back to the contents of the ‘and stuff’ bit. He turns on the tap and starts to rinse off the soap.  “He said some really thought-provoking things.”

“Like what?”

“Oh you know,” Makoto hedges lightly, as he grabs a paper towel to wipe his hands. “Stuff about the future. He actually mentioned something about scouts—”

“—I don’t really want to talk about this,” Haru cuts in, looking annoyed.

 _You never want to talk about it_ , Makoto thinks sadly. But he pastes a smile on his face all the same. It’s almost reflexive now, this little act of self-armouring. “Yeah, I know. It won’t work out anyway because I was already thinking of a different—”

“—I said I don’t want to talk about it, Makoto.”

 _Path…_ Makoto doesn’t finish.  _Something different from you and Rin. Something that might separate us._ He knows Haru assumed Makoto was referring to him, but still, he couldn’t help feeling stung by the harsh way Haru shut him out. He briefly considers clearing it up, but it’s obvious that this is putting Haru in a foul mood, so with a resigned sigh, he decides to leave this discussion for another day. Again.  “Okay,” he says in a small voice, and walks back to his bed.

To his credit, Haru's irritation doesn't prevent him from noticing Makoto’s sudden despondence. He sighs and stops stretching, turning around to face him. “Look, I’m sorry,” he starts, rubbing his temples. “I had a long day.”

Makoto nods, accepting Haru’s apology, though it doesn’t make his dismissal sting any less. “Did something happen?”

Haru doesn’t answer right away. He suddenly looks agitated, his jaw tightly clenched, like he’s remembering something painful. 

Concern gnaws at Makoto. “Haru?” he prods.

Haru shakes his head. “Nothing important,” he answers, his face back to its usual veneer of blithe unconcern.  He opens the bathroom door and steps in. “I’m going to take a shower. Go ahead and sleep, you don’t have to wait up for me.” Then the door shuts, followed by the click of a lock. Haru never locks the bathroom door. He must really want to be alone.

Seconds later, Makoto hears the sound of running water. With a defeated sigh, he tucks himself under the covers and tries to go to sleep. He knows Haru isn’t being truthful, but he doesn’t want to pressure him. Haru will tell him if he really wants to, and Makoto won’t take it against him if he doesn’t.

 _Maybe this is a sign_ , he thinks. The world of competitive swimming is rife with expectations, with obligations, a life of continuous repetition that requires peerless discipline and dedication. Makoto’s not sure he can handle that, or accept that even. 

And if he’s undecided, then clearly, he doesn’t want it enough. That should be all he needs to know about which choice is the right one. His new dream will make him happy, make him feel useful, make him feel _accomplished._ If he can’t realize a professional swimming career for himself, then he’s more than willing to help others get there.

Most importantly, this new dream is something he can truly call his _own._ It’s only recently that he realized how frighteningly few the instances of those are.

 _This is enough_ , he thinks. _This is what I want._

And if he’s still trying to convince himself, he does not notice.

*

Rin lays his head on the pillow, thinking of the way Makoto whispered his faith against his lips, and of how Sousuke’s eyes softened when Rin promised him the ultimate relay showdown.

He closes his eyes, smiling, and dreams of the sights he hopes his friends, especially Haru, will remember.

*

Haru wakes up to darkness, and remembers faceless scouts, a pool that resembles an abyss, and the encouraging chorus of everyone he knows telling him it’s time to jump.

After one last look at Makoto’s face, he goes back to sleep and tries to forget.

 

~fin~


End file.
